All the Strange, Strange Creatures
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Something is on the island that shouldn't be. The Skipper and the Professor clash on how to deal with the matter at hand, and Gilligan and Ginger try to keep the peace as strange happenings befall the castaways. Is the supernatural to blame? Or is it something far more tangible, but just as dangerous?
1. Stirring in the Sands

_Notes: The characters aren't mine, but the story is! I've recently fallen in love with _Gilligan's Island_, and the logical course of action was to start writing fic for it. I've decided to start with a multichapter misadventure that was inspired by (and takes place after) the events in the episode "Ghost-a-Go-Go," and I hope it captures the feel of the series while straying towards a slightly more dramatic vein_.

* * *

It was a moonless night over the small, tropical island that was the current residence of seven unwilling inhabitants. But it was under this cover of darkness that a small boat, carrying additional—unwelcome—visitors, approached the lagoon of the little island.

"Kill the motor," one of them hissed. "They are light sleepers—at least the skinny one is."

"I still do not see why we are going through this charade," another said, as the motor of the boat went silent. "Your last plan didn't work."

"Then, this time, we will enact a new plan that will work," the first one said. "Hide the boat. I will signal our ship to let them know that we are here. And then… we wait."

He raised a flare gun, aimed it at the sky, and fired. The flare momentarily lit up the sky before the cloak of darkness returned, broken only by the points of the stars above.

* * *

The sound and light of the flare had, for the most part, gone unnoticed by the castaways; all but one of them had been sound asleep. Only the young first mate had been awake, idly thinking about his old life in Pennsylvania when he saw the light of the flare through the open window in the hut.

The first mate took a flying leap from his hammock and ran to the window as his feet hit the sandy ground. It was dark now, but there was no mistaking what he had seen—and heard, for he had heard the sound of the flare as well.

"Someone's on the island…!" he said, to no one in particular. "We're gonna be saved! We're gonna be rescued! Skipper! Skipper!"

Awakening the Skipper was remarkably similar to trying to awaken a sleeping dragon; the young first mate was one of the very few people who could do so and live to tell the tale—just barely.

"Skipper!"

The big man flinched in annoyance as the voice persisted.

"_What_, Gilligan?"

"We're saved! I saw a signal flare!" Gilligan exclaimed. "Just now—through the window! Plain as day!"

The Skipper took one look at the dark sky through the window before glancing back at young friend with an unreadable expression.

"…Wouldja believe… plain as night?" Gilligan offered.

"You were probably dreaming," the captain said, exasperated. He turned away, attempting to fall back asleep—that was, however, until Gilligan's words sunk in. "…Did you say signal flare!?"

"I sure did! I'm gonna go check it out, Skipper—I'll let you know who's out there and when we can leave and all sorts of stuff!"

The first mate practically barreled out of the hut, still talking at a hundred words a minute about rescues and plans as he headed towards the lagoon.

"Gilligan!" the Skipper called. "Gilligan, wait—_oof_!" His attempts to extricate himself from the hammock ended up with him faceplanting onto the sandy floor of the hut. He sighed, propping his chin up on his hand.

It was going to be another one of those days—and the day hadn't even started yet. But, with a little bit of luck, they could finally get off this island at long last.

* * *

Gilligan had screeched to a halt upon reaching the lagoon. He had expected to see people there—or their boats and supplies, at least. But there was no one—the lagoon was completely empty.

"Maybe I _was_ dreaming…" he said, quietly, trying to recall what he had seen. Had he gone to the wrong place? He could have sworn that he had seen the flare go up over the lagoon…

Gilligan's thoughts trailed off as he saw markings on the sand; yes, those were footprints, and the tracks of something large having been dragged ashore—a boat!

The first mate practically jumped for joy, and he ran back the way he had come, calling out to whoever had just arrived as he made his way back towards the huts. Could they hear him? Well, he was shouting as loudly as he could—they'd _have_ to hear him!

"Hello?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hellooooooooo—" Stars filled his vision as he collided with something big and blue—and was knocked back several feet. "Ow! …Skipper?"

"Gilligan, what are you doing?" the captain asked, exasperated again. "I thought you were meeting with the people who arrived!"

"I was gonna, but I can't find 'em!" Gilligan said, shrugging. "But they've got to be here—I saw their footprints in the sand, and they'd dragged a boat with 'em, too! Oh, and, Skipper?"

"Yeah?"

"When we're rescued, you oughta consider trying out for the Pittsburgh Steelers. They sure could use a guy like you…"

"Very funny, Gilligan," the Skipper said. "Right now, all I can think of is looking forward to some real food once we get back to the mainland. …Maybe they've even brought some with them!"

This prospect of something other than tropical fruit and fish for breakfast seemed to snap the captain out of his sleepiness; he headed to the lagoon with Gilligan right behind them.

"I already told ya—they're not here," Gilligan said. "But you can see which way they went!"

"Where?" the Skipper asked.

"Right…" the first mate trailed off, staring wide-eyed at the sand.

All of the footprints and the trail of the boat were gone; the sand was utterly devoid of any sign that someone had been here. Gilligan could only stare helplessly as the Skipper folded his arms.

"Well, Gilligan?"

"I, uh… Well… …Oh, but it was there fifteen minutes ago! All of it! Tracks, the lines from the boat, the flare…" He gestured helplessly into the sky, where he had seen the light in the sky. "It's gone now!"

"Gilligan, it was never here," the Skipper said, massaging the bridge of his nose. "There was no flare, there was no boat, and there were no footprints."

"But I wouldn't make it up!" Gilligan protested. "Why would I make up something like this!? We've been on this island for four years; I'd never joke about something like this! …Skipper, you believe me, dont'cha?"

The captain sighed again.

"I know you wouldn't make it up," he assured him. "But it's like you said, Little Buddy—we've been here for four years. After that long, we're _all_ a little rock happy; our minds play tricks on us, making us see and hear the things we want to see and hear."

"You mean wishful thinking?"

"Exactly."

"…So, you're not mad?"

The Skipper rolled his eyes heavenward.

"No," he said. "It's always important to check out a possible rescue, in case it _is_ real. But the next time you see or hear something at three in the morning, can you check and see if it's real _before_ waking me up?"

Gilligan gave a sheepish smile.

"Sure, Skipper. Sorry about that."

The Skipper nodded and yawned loudly as he turned and headed back towards the hut area. Gilligan started to follow him, but suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned his head towards another direction that also led inland, trying to ignore the rapidly growing feeling of unease. The voice in his head was insistent, convinced that he _had_ seen the flare and the footprints and tracks—and the fact that there was no trace of them now was something to be concerned about.

The Skipper glanced behind him, stopping as he realized that Gilligan's mind was elsewhere.

"Gilligan?" he called.

The first mate glanced back at his captain, and then looked back towards the other direction.

"Skipper?" he asked. "D'you ever have that feeling when you feel that there's something out there that shouldn't be?"

There was something in the way that he said it that caused long-dormant alarm bells to ring in the back of the Skipper's mind. It had been a long, long time since the captain had ever had that feeling, and that previous experience told him not to dismiss it. And even though Gilligan tended to have his head in the clouds a lot, that didn't mean that he was immune to the sixth sense; if anything, Gilligan might be _more_ in tune to something off than the rest of them would be.

"Never mind. …Guess it's kinda silly, huh?" Gilligan asked, taking the captain's silence as a "no."

"Not necessarily," the Skipper said, and the seriousness of his tone of voice was enough to surprise Gilligan. "But if there is something out there, we won't find out anything about 'em—not tonight, after you've been yelling loud enough to let 'em know you're looking for 'em."

"Yeah, I guess not," Gilligan said, looking back towards the other side of the island. "So we just… let 'em stay out there?"

"There's no other choice right now," the Skipper declared. "When it's light out, we'll get the others to help us look around. Then we'll see what's out there. In the meantime, we'll just have to wait it out." He headed back towards their side of the island, pausing again as the first mate still didn't move. "Gilligan!"

The first mate snapped back to reality and followed the Skipper back towards the huts, casting once last glance back in the other direction.


	2. All in the Mind

On the other side of the island, the group of intruders were discussing things among themselves.

"I warned you that the boy was a light sleeper," the mustachioed one said, through a thick accent.

"It was your idea to set off the flare," one of his colleagues reminded him.

"We had to!" the man said, frowning.

"We are just fortunate that we wiped away our tracks before that captain saw them," a third man muttered. "That could have ruined everything."

The men murmured agreement.

"Where did you hide the boat?" the mustachioed one asked.

The men gave a start as a scarlet macaw squawked from a tree limb above them. Frowning, one of the men affixed a silencer to his gun and fired twice at it. He missed both times, but the parrot squawked again—this time, in fear—and flew away.

"We hid the boat in one of the small caves," the second man said. "There was some sort of animal's nest in there. We had to clear it out."

"Just as well," said Mustache Man. "If there was an animal in there, those squatters will not be likely to poke around in there." He cracked his knuckles and looked around at his colleagues. "And now, Gentlemen… we begin Phase Two."

* * *

Gilligan hadn't expected to be able to fall back asleep with the persistent feeling that something was very, very wrong. To his surprise, however, he found himself awakened hours later by something nipping at his hand.

He opened his eyes to see a scarlet macaw walking all over his torso; the bird's feathers were fluffed up in agitation, and, every so often, he nipped at Gilligan's hand.

"Sam…?" the first mate asked.

The bird squawked in the affirmative.

"What are you doing here? What happened? You look upset… Ow!" he exclaimed, as Sam nipped his hand again. "Hey, don't take it out on me! And you'd better not take it out on the Skipper, either; you don't wanna wake him up!"

"Zzz—wha…?" the captain mumbled from the lower hammock, hearing Gilligan mention him.

"Nothing, Skipper…" Gilligan said, cringing at the fact that he had just accomplished what he had wanted Sam to avoid.

"Skipper!"

The captain and the first mate both looked to the door of the hut as Ginger and Mary Ann appeared.

"Skipper, we've got a huge problem," the Kansas-born girl said. "Down at the supply hut; you'd better take a look!"

"What happened?" the Skipper asked, on his feet in an instant.

"We went down to the hut to get what we needed for breakfast," Ginger said. "…Someone broke in there last night."

"What!?" the Skipper exclaimed, and he looked back at Gilligan, who was wide-eyed with shock.

"There's no food—none at all!" Mary Ann fretted, practically beside herself.

"But we went past the supply hut a few hours ago, and it was fine!" Gilligan said, as he hopped out of his hammock now. Sam squawked in protest before flying onto Gilligan's shoulder.

"A few hours ago?" Ginger repeated, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "Why were you there at all?"

"Well, first I started seeing things down by the lagoon, so I went to check up on them. And then I thought—"

"We can explain later, Gilligan," the Skipper said. "I want to take a look at the supply hut."

"What's left of it, you mean?" Ginger asked.

The captain paused, halfway out the door.

"Don't tell me…"

"It's not _just_ that our food is missing," Mary Ann said. "The hut is… Oh, Skipper, I think you should just see for yourself!"

* * *

The Professor and the Howells were already at the supply hut—or, as Ginger aptly put it, what was left of it. As Mary Ann had said, all of their food was gone, and their non-edible supplies had been pulled out of the hut and scattered all over the sand. As for the hut itself, pieces of the bamboo infrastructure had been broken off, with most of the palm frond thatch-work ripped off and shredded, also scattered.

"Really, Thurston, we should take proper precautions," Mrs. Howell was saying. "If there's someone breaking and entering on this island, we need to make sure that our money and my jewelry are safe!"

"Indeed, Lovey, but who? _Who_?" Mr. Howell said.

"Or _what_?" Gilligan said, quietly, causing everyone to look at him. "What could do all of this without any of us hearing it?"

"Gilligan brings up an interesting point," the Professor said. "With the extent of damage done, we should have heard something. And yet, none of us heard a thing."

"Unless it's something that didn't want to be heard," the Skipper said. "…Or, _couldn't_ have been heard."

Gilligan's eyes widened.

"Skipper, you mean those ghosts that go around and break things and write on walls?"

"Poltergeists?" Ginger asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, that's what they're called!" the young sailor said, his sudden exclamation startling Sam, who responded by nipping him on the nose. "Ow! But see, everyone? Even Sam sensed something up—just like I did last night!"

"You saw something?" the Professor asked.

"Well… I _thought_ I saw a signal flare last night, and tracks in the sand by the lagoon, but the Skipper said I was seeing things, but then I sensed something—"

"Signal flare!?" Mary Ann repeated.

This sparked a discussion about the possibilities of people on the island; soon, everyone was attempting to talk over the others—until the Skipper yelled for quiet.

"Okay, look," the captain said. "Maybe Gilligan wasn't seeing things after all—but it does leave us with a question. If people were here on the island to rescue us, why would they do this?" He glanced back at the damaged hut. "Would they take our food, scatter our supplies, and damage the hut—all in utter silence—just for a joke?"

"In my experience, Captain, there are people with some strange eccentricities," Mrs. Howell said. "You see them all the time—in all social circles. Thurston, don't you remember that time, at the Sotheby's auction, we saw that strange man…"

"Oh, yes," Mr. Howell said. "The one who went around wearing that giant scarf—in the middle of summer?"

"Yes, him! And then there was the time when we went to that business dinner—"

"I get the idea," the Skipper said, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"But how do we know that it was a person?" Gilligan said. "Maybe it _was_ a poltergeist after all! Skipper, you need to exercise!"

"_What_!?" the big man asked, indignantly.

"You know—say some things to make the ghost go away?"

The captain stared at him for a moment.

"Exorcise," he said, at last. "You mean _exorcise_."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"_No_," the Skipper stated. "And it doesn't matter; I wouldn't know the first thing about it."

"But you're the captain of a ship!" Gilligan said. "You can perform a wedding—why can't you exorcise, too?"

"Because weddings are in the Navy manual; exorcisms are not."

"And this whole conversation, I'm afraid, is getting us absolutely nowhere," the Professor said, rolling his eyes. "Now, I'm not going to pretend that I know what happened here last night, but I do know that we're all going to go hungry if we don't restock our food supplies soon."

"We also need to clear up this mess," the Skipper said. "I suggest we…" He trailed off as Mary Ann cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"Well," she said, fidgeting slightly. "It's about the whole poltergeist thing. I know I'm not an expert, but there was something written on one of the boxes. Well, not so much as written as… drawn?"

She picked up the box in question, indicating the symbols and drawings drawn on it in red.

"…Those are Polynesian symbols!" the Skipper exclaimed.

"That's what I thought," the farmgirl said. "Do you know what they mean?"

"They're a reference to some of the trickster demigods! A lot of them are shapeshifters—and while some of them don't mean any harm, some of them are malevolent—even feared!"

"You aren't suggesting that a demigod did this?" the Professor asked. "More than likely, whoever did this scrawled those symbols to make us think that!"

"Oh, I don't know, Professor," Gilligan said. "Some of those symbols look an awful lot like some of the symbols I saw painted on a cave wall yesterday."

The Skipper looked at him sharply.

"What cave!?"

"There was this cave on the other side of the island; the entrance was hidden by the undergrowth in the jungle, so we never noticed it," Gilligan said, guiltily. "So I thought I'd… take a look around. I didn't know I'd be upsetting any of the spirits!"

"Gilligan, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times—"

"I know, I know—never go poking around in an unexplored cave—especially all alone," he sighed.

"Yes, because you never know _what_ can be lurking in there—especially on an island like this, where some of them can have protection spells! You're lucky nothing happened to you while you were in there!"

"Forget about the spells for a moment," the Professor said. "Was there anything else in there?"

"I didn't really stop to look," Gilligan confessed. "I saw the drawings on the wall and hightailed it outta there." He looked to the Skipper. "I didn't say anything because I thought you'd be mad, Skipper. I probably shoulda said something, especially after I started seeing things last night…"

"Gilligan, I can assure you that your seeing things was nothing more than a coincidence," the Professor stated.

"But what about that feeling I had—that something was on the island that shouldn't be? And what about Sam? He was all upset about something, too!"

The macaw squawked at the mention of his name.

"He's got something there, Professor," Ginger said. "They always say that animals know things that people don't."

"And some people are more in tune to those things, too," the Skipper said. "And that makes me wonder why certain people who have an inkling about these things decided that _poking around an unexplored cave was a good idea_!"

"…Sorry…?" Gilligan offered.

"At any rate, the caves are worth looking into for anthropological reasons," the Professor said. "I say we have a quick breakfast of fruit that we can gather from nearby trees, and while we look for more food stores on the other side of the island, take a quick look around and make a few observations—"

"Oh!" Ginger suddenly exclaimed, seizing the Skipper's arm.

They followed her gaze to see a large figure moving behind some nearby trees and shrubbery.

"What is it!?" she asked, as the other castaways—sans the Professor—also sought refuge behind their captain.

The Professor shook his head in amusement and pulled some of the shrubs aside to reveal a large ape.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I present… our poltergeist."

"Gladys!" Gilligan exclaimed.

But the ape, instead of giving Gilligan her usual, warm greeting, held her head in her hands, chattering in her own tongue.

"What's the matter with Gladys?" he asked. "She so upset—just like Sam! …Professor, I don't think she did this! I mean… she wouldn't know how to tear the hut apart and be quiet about it!" He walked over to the ape, who looked up at him with wide eyes. "Gladys, what is it? What happened? _Whoa_—!"

The ape seized his arm, causing Sam to shift shoulders as she led Gilligan through the jungle.

"Gilligan!" the Skipper called.

The first mate looked back and gave a helpless shrug.


	3. They are Everywhere

As Gladys led him towards the other side of the island, he could hear the Skipper quickly listing out instructions for the others, asking the Howells and the girls to help find some more provisions while he and the Professor followed up on whatever it was that Gladys wanted Gilligan to see; clearly, he, too, was thinking that if there was something out of the ordinary, the animals would be aware of it, as well.

The first mate soon became aware of where Gladys was leading him.

"Uh… Gladys? You're headed right for that cave I found yesterday…" he said, his voice squeaking slightly.

Gladys grunted and chattered, still pulling Gilligan ahead. Sam was becoming more and more agitated as they progressed, and the macaw eventually took wing, flying back towards the hut area.

The Skipper and the Professor quickly ducked as Sam flew over their heads.

"First the ape, now the bird…" the Skipper muttered.

"Well, I'll admit that something has the animals perturbed," the Professor said. "We may find the answers as to what happened to the supply hut."

"You want to know what else animals are more in tune to?" the Skipper asked. "Happenings not of this world. I don't know if you were familiar with those symbols that Mary Ann found…"

"Skipper, believe me, it doesn't matter what those symbols said—"

"Skipper! Professor!"

The two picked up their pace, catching up with Gilligan and Gladys. Gladys was pacing around a pile of shredded and scattered leaves and brush.

"I think she's trying to tell me something," the first mate said, as the ape grunted while picking up pieces of the brush.

"Well, from what I know about the habits of large apes, it's typical behavior for them to make nests to rest in," the Professor said. "If I had to guess, I'd say that used to be Gladys's nest."

"And someone shredded it, just like they did with our supply hut thatchwork," Gilligan said, quietly. "But why?"

"It could have been another ape—perhaps a territorial dispute," the Professor mused.

"Oh, and I suppose the ape also painted those symbols on the crate?" the Skipper asked, sardonically.

"Actually, Skipper, there's a lot of research going on as to whether or not certain species of apes can communicate—perhaps even engaging in cross-species communication by means of symbols!"

"…I'm sorry I asked."

"It could be that the apes are mimicking the behavior of the natives they've seen—painting the symbols that they've seen people paint."

"Alright, Wiseguy, where'd they get the paint?" the Skipper challenged. "Those weren't crush-up berries on that crate, and we didn't have any paint like that!"

"I'm still working on that," the Professor declared.

"What if it _is_ a curse?" Gilligan asked. "We're right by the cave that I was in yesterday. It's over there." He pointed towards a small hill.

Gladys, on the other hand, was trying to lead Gilligan towards her cave. But as the Skipper and the Professor headed towards the newer cave, the first mate pulled his arm from the ape's grasp.

"Wait!" he called to his friends. "You won't get in that way; the opening is too small—even for me! There's another opening on the other side of the hill that leads right to it—I followed a small tunnel, and there it was!"

"So, there seems to be a network of small caves in this hill," the Professor said. "Probably created by lava bubbles when the island rose from the sea millennia ago. Fascinating!"

"You may call it fascinating; I call it an invitation to disaster!" the Skipper said. "Now, Gilligan, are you sure you saw symbols written on the walls?"

"Uh-huh—and they looked just like the ones on the crate! …Just how nasty are these trickster demigods, Skipper?"

"Well, it's hard to say—depends on which ones we're dealing with. The writing on the crate was just a referral to the demigods in general, but once we find out which one we're dealing with, we'll know what to look out for." The captain sighed. "Well, I don't like poking around in a cave that's been potentially spelled, but we need to know which demigod was invoked. Take us to the entrance."

Gilligan paled, but nodded, and soon led the way there. Gladys chattered after him, pointing to the direction of her cave.

"We'll be back, Gladys!" he promised, as the Skipper and the Professor followed him to the cave's other entrance. "Here it is. It's gonna be a bit of a tight fit… for some of us, anyway."

The Skipper gave him a glare, but the Professor was already on his hands and knees, crawling through the entrance and illuminating the chamber with a lighter.

"Incredible!" he exclaimed. "These drawings have to be at least a hundred years old—possibly older! Skipper, can I have a second opinion?"

The big man cringed, but decided that if the Professor didn't seem to be afflicted by a curse, it was probably safe—for the moment. He, too, entered the cave, though it was a difficult endeavor on account of his size.

Gilligan hesitated for a moment, but then followed, glancing at the wall that the Professor was studying. It was then that he noticed something off—again.

"Hey…" he said, pointing at a drawing beside the old symbols. This one was clearly new, drawn with the same red paint that had been on the crate. And it wasn't a symbol, either; this one was an actual depiction of a deity. "That one wasn't here yesterday!"

"…Yes, this one is new," the Professor agreed. "And something about it looks oddly familiar…"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the captain.

"That's Kona."

"Kona!?" Gilligan yelped. "Kona, the God of Evil!? Kona, the statue that kept following you around!? _That_ Kona!?"

"Are there any others?" the Professor deadpanned.

"Yes, _that_ Kona," the Skipper said, staring at the drawing in horror. "It all makes sense now—why else was the statue here on this island? Obviously, there was some sort of faction that worshipped him—and now they've cursed us!"

"More likely, they're just trying to show us that they're unhappy with us being here on what they consider to be Kona's island," the Professor said.

"What about the light I saw last night?" Gilligan asked. "Would they even have a flare gun?"

"They might…" the Professor agreed.

"Gilligan," the Skipper said. "Are you absolutely sure that what you saw last night was a signal flare and not some other kind of light?"

"What other kind of light could it have been?" Gilligan asked. His eyes suddenly widened. "Gh-ghost light?"

"Nonsense!" the Professor insisted.

"Oh, I don't know, Professor…" the first mate said. "Why else did everything vanish so quickly?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure there is a logical explanation for it all!"

"This island has a curse on it, courtesy of Kona—_that's_ what the explanation is," the Skipper replied. "Why else haven't we been able to leave in four years?"

"…I thought that was my fault…" Gilligan said, quietly.

"Kona's been pulling the strings since that storm beached the _Minnow_," the captain said. "This was his island, and now, he's claiming it back."

"So, it's Kona's fault, and not mine?" Gilligan asked. "Gee, I dunno whether to feel relieved or nervous…" He looked around. "Hey, Kona, if you want the island back, you can have it! We don't wanna be here! Hey, Kona—!"

"Gilligan, no…!" the Skipper exclaimed, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Don't talk to him, don't antagonize him, and don't say anything that might tempt him to take any action against us."

"Skipper, it is impossible for Kona to do anything to us because he has absolutely no bearing on what happens on this island," the Professor said.

"I think I'm gonna have to agree with the Skipper," Gilligan said, once the Skipper released him. "And there's an easy way to tell if he's right, too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah! If the Skipper is right, and Kona is cursing the island, then we should expect another disaster any second now—"

"Skipper!?" Ginger's panicked voice called from outside. "Skipper!? Where are you!? Gilligan!? Professor!?"

Gilligan's eyes widened, and he looked to the Skipper. The captain gave the first mate a stunned glance before replying to the star.

"We're in here, Ginger! Eh, hold on; it's kinda crowded in the cave—we'll meet you out there!"

Ginger waited for them to exit before delivering the bad news. Beside her, Gladys waited, anxiously pacing, and Sam stood perched on Ginger's shoulder, more agitated than before.

"It took us a while to convince the Howells that we needed their help in getting some new provisions to replace the food we lost," she said. "But, eventually, the four of us managed to find enough fruit to get us through the day. Mary Ann and I got back to the huts first to start setting things up and…" She shook her head. "She's going to have to do a lot of damage control once the Howells see what's happened to their valuables and money."

"Oh, no…." the Skipper said. "Not…"

"Ransacked, just like the supply hut," Ginger said. "All of the huts have been broken into. The thatchwork is still intact, thankfully, but all of our things have been scattered all over inside and outside the hut, and the communal table's been upended. We still haven't taken inventory yet, so we don't know what's missing. Or who did it."

"We were only gone an hour!" the Skipper said. He turned to the Professor. "You believe me now?"

The Professor folded his arms, obstinately, but Gilligan tugged on the Skipper's sleeve.

"I believe you!" the first mate said. "Skipper, we gotta find a way of getting Kona off our backs!"

"Kona!?" Ginger asked. "Not—"

"The same one," the Skipper said, with a nod. "But we'd better get everyone together; we shouldn't be separated with this curse going on. And we need to take inventory."

The Professor was clearly biting his tongue in regards to the alleged curse, but Ginger shuddered, prompting Sam to leave her shoulder and take refuge in the nearest tree.

"Yeah," Gilligan said, and he turned to the ape. "You coming back with us, Gladys?"

The ape moaned, placing her head in her hands.

"Guess not…" the young sailor said. "Well… see ya. You can show me that thing you wanted show me later, okay?"

He gave the ape a wave goodbye and followed the others back, ignoring the sinking feeling growing ever stronger with each passing moment.


	4. While We Waited

_Notes: Apologies for the slow update speed; things have gotten busy in my schedule, and with me trying to juggle two other fics, I don't know for certain when updates for this will be. They will, however, be written as quickly as I can_.

* * *

Ginger was leading Gilligan, the Skipper, and the Professor back towards the hut area when they heard a familiar shriek.

"Uh-oh," the first mate said. "Looks like the Howells are back!"

Sure enough, they arrived to see Mary Ann trying to comfort a distraught Mrs. Howell as Mr. Howell rescued Teddy from the sand with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Gilligan!" he said, placing a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "Gilligan, we've put up with your animal friends' antics for quite some time now, but this has gone too far! That ape has to answer for this!"

"But Gladys didn't do it!" Gilligan protested. "And she didn't shred the hut walls, either! Kona did it!"

"Kona!?" Mary Ann asked. "Not—"

"Yes, it's the same one," the Skipper and Ginger said, in unison.

"Allow me to translate," the Professor said. "There was a fresh painting of Kona in a small cave."

"If that isn't a calling card, I don't know what is!" the Skipper said. "Even if you think apes can copy symbols and drawings, you can't expect me to believe that they can perfectly paint a native deity!"

"There is a lot about apes that we don't know about," the Professor said.

"There's a lot about the unexplained that we don't know about, either!"

"One thing I do know," Mrs. Howell said, sighing in relief. "All of my jewelry still seems to be here. The last time an ape went through my jewelry, it took my brooch. And even the cash is all here."

"Yes, thank goodness," Mr. Howell said, now attempting to shake sand off of the bills. "But it's still going to take a ghastly amount of time to get everything back in order."

"Alright, alright," the Skipper said. "First, let's eat something; we never had anything to eat all day. And then, after that, we'll take inventory. But I don't want anyone wandering around out there alone, at least for now—we need to stick together!"

"Oh, believe me, I'm staying right here," Ginger insisted, suppressing a shudder.

"Well, I was going to suggest that we try some sort of surveillance of the general area," the Professor said.

"And I said that it's too dangerous for anyone to be out there right now!" the Skipper responded.

"I still say that it would behoove us to try to get a better idea of what's out there, rather than staying here, cowering because of some ancient fairy tale!"

"Professor, just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. All you're doing is sticking your head in the sand!" the Skipper quipped, his voice increasing in volume with every word. "Now I said that I want everyone to stay here for now, and I _mean_ that I want everyone to stay here for now!"

The Professor was about to respond with a retort, but anything he had planned to say was preempted by Gilligan quickly stepping between him and the Skipper, holding up a platter of fruit.

"Look! Breakfast!" he said, his voice trembling slightly.

The Skipper grabbed a mango, and the Professor took a papaya; neither of them said a word, but, instead, took seats at the opposite ends of the communal table. Gilligan exhaled in relief.

"Boy, that was close…"

"You said it," Mary Ann whispered. "If whatever's out there doesn't drive us crazy first, all this arguing will."

"Maybe _this_ is the curse of Kona," Ginger said, quietly. "He's pitting the Skipper and the Professor against each other—and they're the ones we turn to most."

"I don't suppose there's a way we could bring them to the negotiating table?" Mr. Howell asked. "A bit closer than where they are now, of course? Say… a thousand dollars for each of them?"

"Better make it at least three thousand, Thurston," Mrs. Howell said. "This whole business is frightful, and I'd prefer the both of them working to protect us from… whatever it is out there."

"I don't think money is gonna help much here," Gilligan said. "But there's one thing I do know; no matter what's out there, or how upset he is, the Skipper will do whatever he has to in order to keep us safe—even against Kona himself!"

* * *

It transpired, of course, that Kona was not on the island. Mustache Man was busy paging through a volume on Polynesian myths and legends. A man in a suit, carrying a swagger stick in his right hand, approached him. The man had graying, brown hair and the beginnings of a grizzled beard, but he had a distinct military bearing.

"Did you do as I ordered?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes, Sir, my leader!" Mustache Man said, saluting. "I painted the picture of the demigod Kona earlier this morning while the others ransacked their supply hut. We took all of their food; while they went out to gather more, we ransacked the huts!"

"And I trust that no one helped themselves to the millionaires' valuables?"

"We were very much tempted, my leader. But—"

Mustache Man stopped talking in nervousness as the swagger stick was now an inch from his nose.

"But what?" the leader hissed.

"We did not take a thing, my leader! You can search us! We left every valuable there; all we took was the food!"

"And I still say that taking their food was a step too far; you could have rendered it inedible by smashing the fruit and scattering that along the sand. Taking the food will lead anyone to believe that it was an animal; that teacher is convinced of it. Fortunately for us, he is the only one who is."

"My leader, I fail to understand why we are doing this," a second minion said. "Would it not be easier to rush in and force them off the island—or take them all as our prisoners?"

"No!" the leader hissed, glaring at his underling. "You are all fools to even consider a show of force with that man in charge of them!"

"The captain?" Mustache Man asked, chuckling. "He fell for my ghost disguise last time; he is no threat!"

"He believed that he was under siege by a ghost, so he did not fight back!" the leader snapped. "You look upon him now and see a man gone soft, but do not let yourself be fooled. He fought in some of the most grueling battles of the Pacific. You see, I did my research; I sought information on the captain's record. And my sources came through for me—with quite a story."

The man's tone changed; there was almost a hint of admiration in his voice.

"He served at Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands. He began as a junior grade lieutenant when the United States entered the war; he finished as a lieutenant commander. Don't you find it intriguing for a young officer to advance two ranks in less than three full years? It's more than intriguing; it's almost unheard of—especially when he ended up losing not one, not two, but _three_ ships."

"Why would they promote him after losing so many ships?" Mustache Man asked. "And that doesn't even count the ship he lost to get himself stuck on this island!"

"I had the same question," the leader replied. "And so I asked my sources to go deeper. It transpired that he received his first promotion after saving countless lives at Guadalcanal—by turning a radio receiver into a transmitter. It allowed them to call for backup. And despite the fact that he lost three ships, his men suffered the least amount of casualties during the war—often due to him placing himself in harm's way to ensure the safety of his men. Once the war was over, he worked in naval intelligence; no casualties befell his men once the war had ended. He achieved his captaincy with remarkable speed. The closest there was to casualty after the war was, ironically, himself; he was nearly killed by a loose depth charge—he was saved, it seems, by some young recruit. But that is irrelevant; you see that we are dealing with a highly experienced military mind."

"The big battles were more than twenty years ago," a third minion pointed out. "It has been a long time since he has seen combat."

The leader tutted.

"When the battle ends, warriors do not wither away. They merely sleep. And it is folly—sheer folly—to awaken a sleeping warrior. And _that_ is why we are resorting to psychological warfare. If he even _suspects_ that there is a human factor threatening the lives under his care, we will only bring about our undoing. I had hoped that his time in the Pacific would cause him to be wary of local legends. Fortunately for us, not only is he wary, but this particular demigod has him exceedingly upset. We are well on our way."

"What do you suggest we do next, my leader?" Mustache Man asked.

"For now? We do nothing. We'll give them a day of peace—and lull them into a false sense of security. And then, when night falls, we move on to the next phase."

"What is that?" a fourth man asked.

"Not only do we use the legends to unnerve the captain… We use them to break him."

"I do not understand," Mustache Man said.

The leader rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Did I not just get through telling you that so much of the captain's career has involved being a protector? Even if he had lost ships—even if he had been forced to retreat or declare a mission as a failure—he could still hold on to that reassurance that he had kept those under his care safe from harm. We are going to take away that reassurance—one step at a time."


	5. A Forceful Intelligence

Breakfast, and then lunch, seemed to bring an extended peace among the castaways, at least for the moment. The Skipper and the Professor avoided each other as they and the others helped with cleaning up. Even the Howells were pitching in—though they were mostly concerned with their own possessions, but they, and everyone else, were also keeping an eye out for anything near their hut area that wasn't supposed to be there. Nothing showed up, but it still didn't help their nerves. And despite the fact that the Skipper and the Professor weren't arguing, the tension in the air seem to build with every passing moment.

It was right around dinnertime that things began to go sour again; the Professor announced that he was heading down to the lagoon, and the trouble began.

"I said I didn't want anyone wandering off," the Skipper ordered. "That included you, too!"

Gilligan, who had been sorting things back into place in the hut, stopped as he heard the Skipper's voice increasing in volume. He watched from the doorway of the hut; the others had the same idea, and soon the Howells, Ginger, and Mary Ann were watching the scene with apprehension.

"You can relax; I had no intentions of looking for trouble," the Professor said, with a noticeable edge to his voice. "I merely wanted to check the lobster traps. With all the physical work we've been doing, we need more than fruit to keep us going."

"All the same, you shouldn't go alone; take one of the others with you."

"Why? In case Kona is waiting for me down at the lagoon?"

The Skipper turned sharply to face the Professor, and Gilligan now stepped out of the hut, approaching from behind him, ready to run in and intervene if need be.

"Don't joke about those kinds of things," the Skipper ordered. "Even saying the wrong thing—"

"You are more than welcome to believe what you want, but don't expect me to believe in these foolish superstitions!" the Professor countered.

"Foolish superstitions, huh?" the Skipper repeated. "This isn't the first time we've had to deal with Kona and his curse—you saw what happened last time! If it hadn't been for the Watubi breaking the curse, why…" He trailed off as he saw the smug look on the Professor's face. "What?"

The Professor folded his arms.

"You really think it was the Watubi who saved you?" the Professor asked. "Well, I've got some news for you."

Gilligan's eyes widened as he realized what the Professor was going to say. Still standing behind the Skipper, the first mate frantically waved his arms, mouthing, "_No_," over and over again before clasping his hands together and mouthing, "_Please_!"

"What are you talking about?" the Skipper inquired, oblivious to the game of charades going on behind him.

"I mean that if you want to see your so-called Watubi, just turn around," the Professor announced.

Gilligan's heart sank as the captain turned, staring blankly for a moment as he saw him standing there.

"_What_."

"I… I'm real sorry, Skipper," Gilligan said, shaking his head, slowly. "It was the Professor's idea… Well, you were just giving up because you thought you were cursed, and we couldn't let you… _I_ couldn't let you… Ginger and Mary Ann even dressed up as the two sprites."

The Skipper now glanced at the girls, who gave him very sheepish waves.

"But it proves my point," the Professor said. "The curse is all in your mind."

"Maybe so," Mr. Howell added, glancing at the growing look of worry on the Skipper's face. "But now it's _on_ his mind, as well!"

Before the Professor could reply, the Skipper suddenly turned back to face him.

"You had no right—"

"I had them do what had to be done!" the Professor said. "You were back on your feet because you thought the so-called curse was broken—and that was nearly four years ago! You haven't been wasting away, even though the 'curse' wasn't really broken!"

"Yeah, and you know what else hasn't happened in the last four years? Us getting off the island!"

"And I suppose now you're going to blame Kona's curse for that?"

The Skipper didn't answer.

"You're missing the entire point!" he said, at last. "Something is out there—whether it's Kona or something else! Nobody leaves the hut area without permission from me, and that's an order!" It was his turn to fold his arms. "Gilligan and I will see to the lobster traps later; in the meantime, there's still some more fruit. We'll have some more of that, and check for lobsters later—or, better yet, in the morning."

The Professor didn't say a word; he silently retreated to his hut. The Skipper watched him leave before returning to his hut, as well; he passed by Gilligan, giving the first mate an unreadable glance that made him feel guilty.

Ginger and Mary Ann were clearly feeling the same way; once the Skipper had gone, they hurried over to where Gilligan was standing. The Howells soon followed, though their thoughts were elsewhere.

"You know, Lovey, I think we ought to go back to our idea of smoothing things out with a nice cash payment," Mr. Howell said.

"Oh, I just feel so _bad_ about this whole thing," Mary Ann sighed, fretting. "It's not enough that the Skipper and the Professor are still arguing; the Skipper probably thinks that we were making fun of him when we dressed up like that to try to convince him that we broke the curse…"

"Yes; I think we owe him an apology," Ginger said.

"That's a start," Gilligan said. "But I think it's more than that."

"What do you mean?" Mary Ann asked.

"Well… you saw how he ducked the Professor's question over whether or not he thought Kona's curse was the reason we haven't gotten off the island, right? I think… I think he might be thinking that… it's his fault for being cursed."

"Oh," Ginger said, and then her eyes widened. "_Oh_. And the last time he blamed himself for something…" She trailed off, remembering how the Skipper had reacted when the Maritime Board had blamed him for the loss of the _Minnow_, and immediately ran towards the hut. Mary Ann was right behind her.

Gilligan turned to the Howells.

"Do you think you could have a word with the Professor?" he asked them.

"Oh, yes, of course," Mrs. Howell said. "I'm sure he realizes deep down that the captain just wants all of us to be safe. You run along and tell the captain what he needs to hear; you're always good at that."

Gilligan nodded a thanks and headed inside the hut. Ginger had her arms around the Skipper, and both she and Mary Ann were apologizing for trying to convince him of the curse-breaking.

"We're all sorry, Skipper," Gilligan added. "You have no idea how relieved we were to see you get back to normal after that."

"So, _so_ relieved," Ginger whispered in his ear.

The captain sighed; a dull, red flush appeared on his cheeks as Ginger whispered to him, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

"I know you meant well," he said, the thunder in his voice gone. "Thanks for trying, you three."

"And we want you to know that we don't think it's because of the curse that we haven't escaped, either," Mary Ann insisted.

"Yeah, that's right!" Gilligan added. "I think you were strong enough to break Kona's curse on your own; after all, if I didn't break the curse, and you got better, that means you were the one who did!"

"Except that it isn't broken," the Skipper said. "Maybe that's why Kona's showing up here and causing trouble; he's letting me know that he's still got it in for me."

"Well, he's just going have to go through me first!" Mary Ann stated.

"Mary Ann's right!" Gilligan agreed. "He's gonna have to go through me next!"

"And me!" Ginger vowed.

The Skipper sighed, but looked at all of them with a wan smile.

"Thanks; it really does mean a lot," he said. "But, eh… If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a little while."

Gilligan's face fell slightly as Ginger and Mary Ann exchanged worried glances.

"Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere," the captain promised, realizing what they must be thinking. "I just need some time to think."

"Okay, Skipper," Gilligan said. "We'll be back in a little bit."

The Skipper nodded, propping his chin on his hand as the others left the hut.

"Well," Ginger sighed, looking back as they closed the hut door and walked off. "That could've gone better…"

"It could've gone worse, too," Mary Ann pointed out. "I'm just glad he's not mad anymore."

"He wasn't really mad, though," Gilligan said. "Not even at the Professor."

"Really?"

"Oh, you haven't seen the Skipper when he's _really_ mad," the first mate said, with a low whistle. "None of you have."

"What did you do?" Ginger asked, wide-eyed.

Gilligan looked to her, slightly affronted.

"What makes you think it was me who made him really mad?" he asked, indignantly.

"Well…"

"I know it _looks_ like the Skipper gets mad at me a lot, but, like I said, he's not really mad," Gilligan went on. "I guess that's why I know he never really means it—because I've _seen_ him really mad before. Just once… and boy, I hope I never see him that mad again. And, no—it wasn't me who got him mad."

He shook his head and whistled again.

"Well, you realize you're going to have to tell us the story now…" Mary Ann prompted him, as Ginger nodded in agreement.

"Well, this was about a couple months after I'd joined the Navy," the first mate said. "Me and the other new recruits were all excited because we were going to ship out for the first time—to practice some tactical maneuvers off the coast of England along with the Royal Navy. There was also this one officer from the Royal Army—Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart, I think his name was… Anyway, this colonel knew the Skipper, since they'd been on some international missions together during the '50s; I don't know exactly what, because the Skipper says that a lot of those missions he did for Naval Intelligence are still classified, but he and the Colonel became buddies through it all, and the Colonel actually visited us just before we shipped out. Apparently, there was some previous mission detail that he and the Skipper had to discuss, but since it was classified, they had to go a secure facility in town; so, the Skipper left a lieutenant—Lt. Mills—in charge of the ship to make sure that we were getting everything ready for shipping out while he cleared up the classified stuff."

Gilligan paused to catch his breath; Ginger and Mary Ann looked on in interest.

"I was assigned to take over the in the engine room with some of the other new recruits," he went on. "We were heading down the stairs to relieve the guys already there—and about halfway down, we could hear shouting. Well, we ran down to see that a fire had started—and it was growing. One of the guys had grabbed a fire extinguisher, but it wasn't doing much good. And then Lt. Mills showed up just as the fire started spreading even more. …And then he just turned around and left—hightailed it right out of there. He didn't give us any orders, he didn't tell us what to do… He just… left us there to save himself. If one of the other sailors hadn't had the idea to have some of us go for the fire hose up on deck…" He trailed off with a slight shudder.

"Weren't you scared?" Mary Ann asked.

"Terrified," Gilligan admitted. "Everything was happening so fast… And then it was over—well, for us sailors, anyway. The Skipper came back a bit later with that colonel. And then he heard what Lt. Mills had done…" The first mate shook his head. "I think Lt. Mills wished that he _had_ faced the fire once the Skipper finally finished yelling at him. And it wasn't over for him, either; Skipper gave him a court martial and everything."

"He deserved it!" Ginger said, frowning. "Leaving all of you to save his own skin? Hmph! You know that if the Skipper had been there, he'd have been out in front, fighting the fire with you! And Mills just…_ran_."

Gilligan nodded.

"Yeah. It's breaking military protocol, too. But I think the Skipper was more upset at the fact that Lt. Mills just left us there to fend for ourselves rather than the fact that he disobeyed orders and abandoned his post. Skipper's always looking out for anyone he's responsible for. Well, you've seen that for yourselves… But, yeah, that's how I know that the Skipper's never really mad at me when I mess things up. 'Cause he knows that I was just trying to help, and not trying to think just about myself." He gave a wan smile; it was only a couple weeks after the Lt. Mills fiasco that the depth charge incident happened, earning the young sailor a lifelong friendship with the captain. He quickly brought himself back to the present, however. "And he's not really mad at the Professor, either; he knows the Professor wants to help just as much as the Professor knows that the Skipper wants to help."

"Be that as it may," Mr. Howell said, as he and Ms. Howell arrived in time to hear Gilligan finish up. "We're not getting them at the negotiating table anytime soon."

"Oh, no…" the first mate said.

"The Professor understands," Mrs. Howell insisted. "And as you said, the Skipper does, too. But they're both very proud men—just like my Thurston! I think we just need to wait until they both put this behind them; and I'm confident that with the same goal in mind, it won't take them too long."

"Let's hope not," Ginger said. "If there is something out there, I'd rather have the both of them working together to stop it. Hmm, do you think I could bring them together and cheer them up if I did some sort of show to entertain them?"

"That's a great idea!" Gilligan said. "It'll help all of us get our mind off of this!"

"And I think I've got the fixings for a pie!" Mary Ann said. "At least, I'm pretty sure I do…"

"Oh, yes!" Mrs. Howell said. "A treat like that will certainly help to cheer the both of them up!"

"Yes, but I think we should have some cash on hand, Lovey—just in case…"

"Oh, of course, Darling, of course…"

The Howells retreated to their hut; presumably to get some money, as Ginger headed to the hut she shared with Mary Ann to look through her available outfits. Feeling slightly more hopeful about the situation, Gilligan turned to Mary Ann.

"Need a hand with the pie?" he asked.

"Thanks for offering, but I think I've got it," she said. "Why don't you go talk to the Skipper some more? I know he said he wants to be alone, but I really think he'd appreciate your company." She looked up at rapidly-darkening sky. "You know, the whole day's gone by without anything else happening. Maybe whatever it was that was out there decided to leave us alone…"

"Let's hope so," Gilligan sighed. "You let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay!"

She began to go through the provisions they had collected through the day, as well as what little they had been able to salvage from their supplies. She quickly realized that she was missing one key ingredient.

"…Seagull eggs…" she murmured aloud.

In the dimming light, she glanced around at the nearby trees. There was a gull nest not too far from the hut area, she knew. She debated for a moment on whether or not to bother with the pie after all, but decided that there was a little bit more daylight left, it wouldn't be too much of a risk. After all, things _had_ quieted down…

Mary Ann now slipped though a few of the trees, trying to see if there were any nests closer to the hut area. There didn't seem to be any; she headed onward, finding the tree and beginning to climb it. It was a bit of a struggle; climbing trees hadn't been a common activity in Kansas. And she was only a few feet off of the ground when her hands slipped, causing her to fall back…

…right into someone's arms.

"Oh, thank you…" she began, but quickly trailed off as she found herself face-to-face with a man she didn't recognize—a military man with grizzled hair and a swagger stick under his arm.

Mary Ann attempted to flee, but the man quickly seized her arm with one hand while covering her mouth with the other.

"I do regret this course of action, Miss," he said, softly. "But I'm afraid it is a necessity. And I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman that no harm will come to you. I cannot, however, guarantee the same for your friends. That, I'm afraid, is entirely up to you. Do we understand each other?"

The farmgirl gave a frightened nod, realizing there was nothing else she could do.


End file.
